Lasat Can Cry, Too
by Dhalia Emerit
Summary: Ezra's gone, and it hits Zeb much harder than he thought it would. Kallus is there to remind him that warrior or not, it's okay to cry. (One-shot.)


**Lasat Can Cry, Too**

 _ **or...**_

 _ **"Imperials Can Be Cheesy"**_

* * *

The night of Lothal's liberation, Zeb had expected to be out drinking with the boys. They had every reason to celebrate after all. Thrawn had been defeated, the empire had been chased off the planet, the people were _free._ It was the greatest victory of the Rebellion thus far. Why wouldn't he enjoy it? Sacrifices be damned, they _earned_ a bit of happiness.

But instead, he found himself laying down on the _Ghost's_ lounge, wrapped up in the arms of a man he'd once so desperately wanted to kill as he came down from the horrific high of a gods-damned panic attack.

His head lay in the man's lap, his cheeks still wet with tears as strong, calloused fingers gently ran through the coarse hair of his beard. One of Zeb's own large paws rested on the man's hip, clutching ever so gently.

"Better?" Kallus' voice lacked its usual posh, softened by all-too-apparent concern. Zeb's ears flattened, and he nodded his head, but he felt heavy. He couldn't move. Didn't _want_ to move. Kallus hummed, and his head lulled back against the lounge seat. "Good."

The hand in his beard moved to rest on Zeb's thick neck, fingers massaging small circles into the muscle. The lasat let out a contented sigh, and as comfortable as he was, he knew his weight couldn't be helping Kallus' bum leg. Slowly, he pushed himself up so he was sitting next to the human properly. The hand slipped from his neck.

Zeb couldn't bare to look into those honey colored eyes, embarrassed and humiliated, so he fixed them on the table instead.

"Sorry…" the lasat grumbled.

Kallus shook his head, and moved a hand to rub Zeb's back for a moment. "There's nothing to apologize for, Zeb. Not long ago, I was in your same exact position, remember?"

He did. It was right after Atollan. Zeb chuckled darkly. "Yeah. You were a right mess, then."

"Still a right mess, if we're going to be honest here," Kallus' voice lightened slightly. Zeb supposed he was right. They'd probably both be messes for the rest of their consecutive lives.

As the human's hand slid off his back, Zeb finally found it in him to look his friend in the eye. "Wouldn't you rather be out with the others?"

Rex and Wolffe had both gone out drinking, as did the others based on Lothal, to celebrate their liberation, and to honor Gregor's death. Hera and Sabine were off at Ezra's tower, spending some much needed alone time to gather their thoughts and figure out their next steps. Zeb had wanted to join Rex, naturally, but things didn't turn out that way, and Kallus...he honestly had no idea what the man had planned on doing. At that moment he was just grateful the ex-agent was around to help him calm down. Zeb had almost forgotten how miserable panic attacks really were.

Kallus shook his head. "No. Consider me a buzz-kill, but I've never much enjoyed drinking."

"No? Here I thought you were a man who could hold your liquor."

Kallus laughed. "Oh, I never said I couldn't," he pointed out. "I just _choose_ not to drink."

Zeb decided not to pry into the reasons why. He found himself leaning against Kallus' shoulder, exhausted in every sense of the word. Kallus scanned him with a critical eye. "You should go get some rest, Zeb. It's been a long day."

Zeb snorted, and opened his mouth to retort.

Instead, he half-yawned, half-cursed. " _Karabast…_ "

Kallus smirked, shaking his head. _Told you_ went unspoken, but Zeb knew that was what the captain was thinking. And of course, Kallus was right. It had been a long, decidedly awful day, and everything screamed at him to go to sleep.

But he couldn't.

Years ago, he'd have been ecstatic and jumping for joy having his own room again.

But now, going into that room, not knowing where Ezra was or if he was even alive…

Zeb couldn't suppress the shiver that coursed through his muscles. Kallus' hand inched toward his arm, as though ready to bring Zeb in close once again if he started to panic once more.

He didn't though. Instead Zeb asked, "Can I uh...ask ya a favor, Kal?"

Kallus quirked a brow. "Of course you can, Zeb."

"Mind bunking with me tonight? It's just... with -" he couldn't say his name "- _him_ gone... it doesn't feel right, being alone in that room..."

* * *

Kallus understood, and he soon found himself on the bottom bunk in Zeb's room.

"Ezra said I could have top bunk again," Zeb had commented dryly just before they entered the room. Kallus didn't even try to argue.

It didn't take much for him to know the bottom bunk had indeed belonged to Zeb. Tufts of purple fur were stuck to the mattress, and the distinct smell of lasat (which he honestly didn't find near as horrid as he once did) clung to it like a cobweb. He had to admit, it was much softer than anything he ever had on star destroyers, and it was even more comfortable for his long, heavy frame than his own bed back on Yavin IV.

His body craved sleep, but he wouldn't allow himself that bliss until he knew his friend above him was resting as he should. He could hear Zeb's heavy breathing, and feel the tossing and turning. Despite the lasat's exhaustion, his mind simply wouldn't let him relax.

Kallus frowned. He'd be the first to admit that holding Zeb with his head cradled in his lap had been awkward. Kallus had never been deserving of the lasat's forgiveness, much less his companionship, and even _less_ his comfort when his psyche took a dark and dangerous turn. He'd decided months ago he'd do anything for the lasat - he owed the man his life after all - but he wasn't exactly prepared for the role reversal. He wasn't prepared to comfort a broken Orrelios.

His fingers had stroked through soft fur and massaged tense, powerful muscles, and he'd whispered soothingly into a flicking ear until Zeb's breathing had evened out. It was what Zeb had done with him when he suffered his own breakdown, and he was both surprised and relieved the gentle ministrations had worked.

He idly wondered if he'd need to do it again to get Garazeb to fall asleep.

"Kal?" Zeb's gruff voice shattered the peaceful quiet and broke through Kallus' train of thought. Kallus blinked up at the steel grey bottom of the top bunk, and saw a purple hand fall into his periphery. "You still up?"

 _I don't want to be up right now, but you need to calm down before I can sleep,_ Kallus wanted to say, but he settled instead for a mere "Mmhmm".

The purple hand hanging down suddenly clenched into a fist, and Kallus turned his head to the side to watch it curiously. Silence dominated for a few moments longer, then: "Are you afraid of anything?"

An odd question, but Kallus answered anyways. "We're all afraid of something, Zeb. You'll have to be more specific."

The hand un-clenched and re-clenched. "...About the war?"

Kallus frowned. There were quite a few things, actually. But was now really the time for a heart-to-heart?

He opened his mouth to tell his friend to try and sleep, but Zeb wasn't done. "I'm afraid I'm gonna lose the rest of my family," Zeb's voice was a raspy, tired whisper now. He sounded even older than he truly was. "I've lost Lasan..." - Kallus cringed and turned away from the hand - "...then I lost Kanan, and now Ezra's gone, and who knows if he's alive?" A bitter, sad, angry laugh left Zeb's mouth. Or maybe it was a sob. "I'm a kriffin' warrior. I should be used to loss by now, y'know? But I'm not. It still... _hurts_."

Kallus closed his eyes and tried to steady his own breathing. He was almost positive his friend was crying. He thought about his words carefully. "Zeb, do you remember what you told me all those months ago? When I told you about the guilt I felt overLyste?"

It had been a bitter and especially humid night on Yavin. The kids were still on Mandalore, and Zeb had joined him out on a walk to try and cool down. They were talking about Kallus' work as Fulcrum, and Lyste inevitably came up in the conversation. Zeb had thought the incrimination ingenious and was more than a bit impressed. Kallus only felt guilt. The lieutenant was young and naive. He didn't deserve to have his trust so betrayed. Kallus had coldly blamed his new moral compass for the guilt.

Zeb sniffled above him. Kallus turned back to the hand hanging down. It was clenched still. He continued, "You told me that I felt guilty and upset because I _cared._ And that caring wasn't a bad thing. Your grieving over loss…" Kallus paused, then reached out for the hand and held it in his own. "It just means you have a big heart, Garazeb Orrelios. Kanan and Ezra...they were as much a family to you as your people on Lasan were. You loved them. And there's nothing wrong with crying over their loss."

Zeb said nothing. The hand Kallus held gripped him more tightly. Then he heard it. The soft sobbing as the lasat finally shed the tears he needed to shed. Not the ones of panic, but of mourning. Of loss. Of heartache.

Kallus shifted closer to the edge of the bed so he could hold Zeb's hand more comfortably, massaging his thumb along the soft fur coating it. "I can't promise the rest of your family will make it through this war. There's never any guarantee, you know that. But I do know you'll do everything you can to protect them, and to honor the ones you have lost. And that counts for something."

Zeb sniffled some more, but the sobbing at least died down. Kallus' arm was starting to burn from being held up so long, but he refused to let go just yet.

Eventually, Zeb found his voice. "You're my family too, Kal."

Kallus stiffened. _I'm not crying over that,_ he told himself stubbornly, even as the corners of his eyes burned with unshed tears.

"Can you promise me you'll at least _try_ not to die in this war?"

A small smile graced Kallus' lips, and he finally closed his eyes again. "I promise to at least try," he echoed softly.

And that was a promise he would keep.

Zeb didn't respond. The soft whimpers and sniffles stopped.

Kallus still held Zeb's hand even as he heard the lasat's snoring echo throughout the room.

* * *

 **AN:** **Ayee, it's my first ever Rebels fanfic and my first fanfic ever posted. All comments are welcome.**

 **I hope you enjoyed it! I've had that bunk bed scene in my head for a while, where they're just laying there, Zeb's beefy hand hanging down from the top bunk and Kallus reaching up to hold it. I'd make art of it, but my skills aren't good enough for that (yet). Since I couldn't draw it, I tried to put it to words.**

 **I am an unashamed Kalluzeb shipper, but I like to think this can also be seen as a brothers-in-arms/bromance kinda setting, too. There's no shame in panic attacks, grief, and pain, after all.**

 **Let me know if you'd like to see more!**


End file.
